


The Reluctant Princess

by tender_is_the_ghost



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Murphy MacManus - Fandom, Norman Reedus - Fandom
Genre: Bikinis, Coats, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Uncle, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Kissing, Motel, One Night Stands, POV Second Person, Rescue, Sex, Shooting Guns, Vaginal Fingering, Vigilantism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_is_the_ghost/pseuds/tender_is_the_ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy MacManus one-shot, set during the events of the first movie. </p><p>The boys find a willing hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reluctant Princess

 

“Take me,” you scream to the dark-haired guy, bullets whipping past your heads. The pair of you are ducked behind the low wall surrounding the still bubbling Jacuzzi, its water now tinged a deep crimson from the body floating on its surface. He looks at you, eyes questioning, blood pouring from his split lip. Exasperated, you edge closer to him, ignoring his gun flying up to cover you.

“What?” he yells over the ricochet of gunfire and the cacophony of shouts and screams echoing around the pool house.

“Take me as a hostage,” you repeat, practically yelling in his face. “They’re not going to shoot at you if I’m with you, trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?” he shouts back, his pale blue eyes staring at you mistrustfully.

“Because I want to fucking live! And I want to get the fuck out of this place.”

He looks at you coolly for a moment, weighing up your words, until a bullet chips a chunk of stone out inches above your heads and then he grabs you, pulling you to your feet and stepping behind you. You gasp as his gloved hand wraps around your waist, acutely aware that you’re dressed only in a bikini and deck shoes, then you scream as loud as you possibly can.

“What the fuck..?” you hear him mutter behind you, his breath hot on the skin of your shoulder.

You ignore him, screaming again and praying that none of the bullets still flying are coming your way.

From the other side of the swimming pool, you hear a shout for a cease-fire and recognize the voice of Klaus, your uncle’s right-hand man. You stop screaming, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“The ball’s in your court now,” you say quietly to the guy behind you and he tightens his grip around your waist, gun held high against your temple for everyone to see.

“Guns, now!” he yells past you. “In the fuckin’ pool or the fuckin’ princess gets a bullet in the head!”

There’s a small outbreak of furious conversation but you hear Klaus’ voice silencing his men and then a collection of weapons comes sliding out from the columns at the end of the room where they’ve been taking refuge, to slide into the water.

“Good, now I want all of you to come out, real slow-like, hands where I can see them and get on the fuckin’ floor.”

Slowly, the men emerge from hiding, Klaus taking the lead and you try not to let your glee show at the look of fury on his face. Instead you try to muster up an appropriately scared expression as he drops to his knees on the cold tiles and presses his face to the floor, his expensive suit soaking up a mixture of blood and pool water. Once he’s sure everyone is down, the guy behind you tugs at your waist, steering you over to the shattered windows leading out to the garden beyond.

“Connor? Roc? You still with me?” he calls softly and you can hear the concern lacing his words.

“Right here, dear brother,” comes the reply and two men emerge from the cover of the faux rock feature at the side of the pool, which is still merrily fountaining fresh water onto the body-ridden surface. The shorter of the two is propping up the taller one and you can immediately see the family resemblance to the guy holding you as your eyes meet his piercing blue ones. He looks you up and down appreciatively, before shifting his gaze over your shoulder.

“Take her out to the van,” he says, “Me n’ Roc’ll finish up in here.”

“You sure, man? I can help.”

“Nah, we’ll be fine. Just get her outta here.”

Again, he tugs at your waist, guiding you in front of him through the broken doors and out into the cool air of a late summer night. You shiver involuntarily, the warmth of the heated pool room leeching rapidly from your skin. He releases his grip on you and you turn to find him slipping off his coat which he hands to you with a smile.

“Thanks,” you say, gratefully slipping into its over-sized warmth and wrapping it around you.

“C’mon,” he replies, steering you across the lawn and out the side gate to the mansion. Parked across the street is a battered blue van and he quickly slides open the side door, ushering you inside.

You sit down on the bare floor and tuck your knees up to your chest, pulling his coat over them and burying your face against your arms. The guy watches you, sliding down against the closed door to sit opposite you, gun still held loosely in one hand.

Now that the adrenaline of the last few minutes is wearing off, you find yourself staring at him as he keeps watch through the windshield, sucking his split bottom lip in between his teeth. His hair is a cropped mess, heading in every direction at once but still managing to look as hot as hell. The blue of his eyes is dulled somewhat in the dim light of the van but you remember how they looked before, an ice-cold blue, tempered by the dark ring of his lashes. Your eyes flit over his high cut cheekbones and trace his jawline, taking note of the small, sexy mole against his upper lip. Even with the blood still slicking his chin and the deep purple of a bruise blossoming on his cheek, you have to admit he’s pretty easy on the eyes. You follow the contours of his body under the tight black t-shirt he’s wearing, noting the large tattoo on his forearm and the smaller one on his neck, sliding your gaze down the torn jeans he’s wearing that look like they’d be as soft as butter to touch.

Without turning his head from his viewpoint out the front, he starts talking and you notice for the first time that he has a soft, Irish brogue that cause the hair on the back of your neck to prickle with each sentence he utters.

“You don’t seem at all phased by what just happened. You doin’ okay there, lass?”

“Five by five,” you reply, burying your face deeper into the sweet, musky smelling fabric of his coat and quietly inhaling his scent, wondering if his skin smells the same way.

Before he can ask you anything else, there’s a pounding of running feet outside and the others pile into the van, the one you believe to be his brother sliding in behind the wheel and gunning the engine. The van peels away and somewhere in the distance you can hear sirens getting closer. The tall guy is sitting slumped against the passenger window, eyes closed and the driver keeps shooting worried glances at him. He looks in the rearview mirror, barely watching the road.

“Murph, are you okay? Did you get hurt?” he asks and you hear the brogue coloring his speech too.

“I’m fine, just scrapes and bruises, the usual, nothing to worry about. What the fuck happened Connor? Where the fuck was Markov? He was supposed to be there. That was the whole fuckin’ point of this mess.  
Every fuckin’ day he’s there at the same fuckin’ time, one bodyguard and that’s it. Only today we get a fuckin’ army waitin’ for us! What the fuck?!”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man, I don’t fuckin’ know. Fuck! This was supposed to be a piece of fuckin’ cake. In, out, clean and nobody gets hurt except for that motherfucker.”

Connor slams the steering wheel in frustration and silence descends on the van.

“He broke a tooth,” you say quietly, voice a little muffled by Murphy’s coat.

Murphy’s head whips in your direction and you catch Connor’s surprised glance in the mirror.

“What?” he asks, incredulously.

“My uncle, Markov, he broke a tooth today. That’s why he’s not there, his dentist is clear across town,” you say, raising your head. “And it was Klaus’ birthday, that’s why all the other men were there, to pay their respects to my uncle’s right-hand man.”

“A fucking birthday party!” spits out Connor from the front seat. “We got royally fucked for a goddamned, cock-sucking birthday party? Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Your uncle?” asks Murphy, focusing, you think, on the more important fact.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, “the one and only.”

“Fuck!” Murphy bangs his head back against the van door with a resounding clang. “That’s just fuckin’ awesome. What the fuck are we supposed to do now, Connor? We just kidnapped Markov’s fuckin’ niece! He’s gonna be on us quicker than flies on shit. Fuck!”

Connor’s reply is lost as a deep groan issues from the passenger side of the front seat. He reaches over to check on the other guy, cursing under his breath.

“Okay, this is what we’re gonna do, little brother. I’m going to drop you off at the motel with our ‘guest’ and then I’m going to get Rocco to the hospital. I think one of those bastards got him deep with a blade, he’s gonna need stitches. Once he’s taken care of, we’ll decide what to do next.”

Murphy nods his assent at this plan and, after another few minutes driving, Connor pulls up at a shady looking motel and lets you and Murphy out. Murphy keeps a tight grip on your upper arm, as he gets out but you have no intention of running.

“Make sure you watch her like a hawk, Murph, don’t take your fuckin’ eyes off of her,” Connor instructs.

“Aye, I know, I know,” replies Murphy as he slides the door closed with one hand and the van peels out onto the main road again.

He quickly unlocks the door to their room, herding you inside and flicking on the small lamp by the door. The room is pretty standard, two double beds dominating the space, a tv and small clanking fridge and not much else. You take a seat on the edge of one of the beds as Murphy locks the deadbolt behind you. He pulls across a rickety looking wooden chair and swings it around so that the back is facing you, before straddling it, effectively blocking your only way out. He folds his arms across the back and rests his chin on them, muscles flexing in his forearms. He eyes you silently for a moment and you start to feel warm, still wrapped in his coat.

“So, what’s it like, living with a drug lord, huh? Or do you not care, what with the whole mansion thing working for you?” His voice has an edge to it that immediately raises your hackles and you glare at him before replying.

“What’s it like? Let me tell you about my life, should I? You think I don’t know what goes on in that house, in my uncle’s ‘business’? That I don’t see the 12 year old kids he has hooked on that shit, running drugs for him until they drop dead from an overdose or another one takes them out to claim their turf? Do you think I have no clue about the underage girls he pimps out of the back of his nice, respectable restaurant every night? Well, I do, okay. I know everything and I know who you guys are and the minute you burst through that door tonight, I thanked my lucky stars because I knew I finally had a way out.”

“So, why’d you never leave, if you knew all that?”

You snort out a bitter laugh.

“Don’t you think I would have, if I could? Wouldn’t any decent human being? I was a prisoner as much as any of the other poor souls he has under his thumb. I don’t ever go anywhere by myself, I’m always under guard, his precious princess. Sure, he says he’s doing it out of respect for my father, keeping me safe, but you want to know something, Murphy? No uncle should ever be looking at their kin the way he’s started looking at me.”

Murphy grimaces, the disgust obvious in every line of his face, as he slides his hands along the chair back to grip the corners until his knuckles turn white.

“So, thank you and thank your brother and your friend. I wish that you had killed the bastard today but at least I’m out of there and I’m grateful for that.”

“I wished we’d killed him too, I wish we could kill them all. I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such an earnest expression that your stomach flips a little and a small thrill of something runs up your spine. You lean back a little, loosening the coat from around your body and you see his eyes flick to the skin you’ve just exposed across your chest. He licks his lips, wincing slightly as his tongue catches against the split one. Getting up off the bed, you head into the small bathroom, running a washcloth under the cold tap and then bringing it back to stand in front of him.

“May I?” you ask and he tilts his head back in response, exposing his neck to you, his eyes never leaving your face. Your wipe gently at the dried blood under his lip and down his throat, cleaning softly with the damp cloth until you reach the neck of his t-shirt.

“I think it’s trickled down,” you say, pulling at his collar.

His gaze on you is steady, his eyes reading your face and for a minute, you think he’s not going to follow through but then he swallows deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and pulls the shirt off over his head. His body is as nicely defined as you imagined, his skin puckering with goose-bumps in the chill air of the air-conditioning. As you wipe at the barely-visible trail of blood on his chest, you let your nails scratch through the hair between his nipples, hearing and feeling the sharp intake of breath your touch pulls out of him. You can clearly smell his scent now, a deep musk mixed with tobacco and a hint of whiskey, making you inhale deeply.

“All done,” you say, voice breathy even to your own ears, as you turn to go back to the bathroom. Before you can take one step, he’s off of the chair and grasping your arm to spin you back to him. You bump against his chest, tipping your head back slightly to meet his as he presses his lips against yours. His kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, until you part your lips letting your tongue push between his. He gives a small moan in the back of his throat and you wonder how long it’s been since he was with a woman. You probe further with your tongue, opening his mouth to slide it against his and run it over his teeth.

You feel his hands reaching under his coat and gliding across your bare skin, his skin rough and warm, as they travel around to your back, pulling you closer to him as his tongue starts to fight for dominance over yours. Your nipples harden as they rub against his chest through the thin material of your bikini top and your hands find their way to the top of his jeans, fingers stroking through the coarse hair on his abdomen, before popping open his button and slowly, slowly pulling down his zipper. You palm his hard cock through the softness of the denim and this time the noise he makes is more of a growl than a moan.

He pulls off from kissing you and you realize you can taste blood on your tongue. You check and the split on his lip is welling fresh drops again so you reach up to gently swipe your tongue across it, the tangy salt of his blood sending a shiver through you. He shudders under your touch and you squeeze harder at his cock, loving the way his eyes flutter in response. Nipping your way down his jaw with your teeth, you gasp as his hands push up the cups of your bikini top and he takes your breasts, kneading them under his palms before his thumbs rub hard across your nipples and you moan hard against his skin.

He pushes against you, walking you back until the back of your knees bump against the bed and then you’re down, your semi-naked body splayed on his open coat and he’s coming up to kneel between your thighs, hands pulling frantically at the strings tying your bikini bottoms together. He bats away your hands as you try to help and you laugh, pushing your fingers into his hair, as he bites and licks his way up your torso. He captures your mouth once more with his, lips mashing brutally against yours as he tries to devour you with his tongue.

His hand comes down to tug on your now untied bikini bottoms until he frees them roughly from between your thighs, tossing them away from him. He pushes your thighs apart with a strong hand and then you’re moaning against his mouth and bucking your hips as his fingers graze over your clit and slip inside your slick lips. He fingers you hard, his thick digits filling you as his thumb swipes your swelling clit and you clutch at his wrist, digging your nails into his flesh while your tongue still fights against his. You part your thighs wider, inviting him deeper but instead he rises off you, positioning himself between your legs and frantically pushing his jeans down over his hips to release his dripping cock.

Without hesitation he thrusts into you and a small scream erupts from your lips as his thickness widens your pussy walls, making you clench hard around him, as he pulls back and then pushes in deep again. You grab a hold of his back, bringing your legs up to lock your ankles against his thighs as he starts pounding into you in earnest, his arms rigid on either side of your torso holding him up off you so he can watch your face as he fucks you. You scrape your nails up his spine, delighting in the noise he makes when you do. With every move of his body into yours, you slide against the satin lining of his coat, the sensation adding to your pleasure and soon the scent of his musk is mingled with the scent of your pussy and it’s turning you on with every breath.

Sweat beads on both your bodies and his hair is damp around his face as he slows his pace a little, his body grinding against yours, until you can feel every veined inch of his cock entering and exiting your slick walls. Your bottom lip is clenched between your teeth and your breath is escaping in hissing gasps as suddenly pulls you up into a sitting position, straddling his thighs and moaning as his cock shifts position inside you. Now you’re riding him and his hands are free to explore your body as you cling to his broad shoulders.

One hand slips down across your belly as you rock your hips to keep him deep inside you and teases through the hair on your mound before softly caressing your aching clit with small strokes. You lean your forehead against his, eyes closing as you concentrate on his touch and the sensations building inside of you. He works gently at you, slowly increasing his pace until you feel him push you over and you clutch at him, convulsing as your orgasm shreds your body, the feeling of him buried deep inside you as you rhythmically pulse around him only making the feelings stronger.

He doesn’t stop stroking you until he’s sure you’re finished, coaxing every last twitch from you and then gently lowering you back down again, pushing your knees up as he quickens his pace inside you once more, wet noises issuing out with every thrust he makes into your dripping pussy. You scratch again at his skin, softly urging him on under your breath, until finally his muscles lock and his face relaxes into an expression of pure ecstasy as he comes hard inside you, grunting with the release. You pull him down to lay against you, sweat mingling as he catches his breath.

After a few moments, you feel him slide from you with a rush of sticky wetness and he rolls to lay beside you, one leg still hooked over yours and an arm draped over your stomach. Your eyes meet his and he gives you the most mischievous grin, eyes sparkling even in the dim light. You laugh softly, reaching up to tug on his messy hair.

“This is not how I saw my day going when I got up this morning,” you say, with a contented sigh.

“Me either, love, me either. But I’m not fuckin’ complaining,” he laughs softly, his hand caressing the skin of your stomach.

Suddenly, he raises himself up on one elbow, staring down at you with a strange look on his face.

“What?” you ask.

“I don’t even know your name,” he replies, looking slightly sheepish.

You laugh, pulling him back down for another kiss.

“Anastasia,” you whisper against his lips, “but my friends call me Anz.”


End file.
